Out on da pull
by I-O-U-a-picture
Summary: Imagine this though... John going 'out on da pull' and getting so close to getting digits so many times but Sherlock just conveniently keeps turning up prattling on about eyeballs in the microwave... Read to find out more.


Prompted to write this by my good friend, Slightly Improbable. The prompt in question was:

'_Imagine this though... John going 'out on da pull' and getting so close to getting digits so many times but Sherlock just conveniently keeps turning up prattling on about eyeballs in the microwave.'_

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John Hamish Watson prided himself for his extremely long patience and it was a good thing too when your flatmate is Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes. Whether it was heads in the fridge, no milk left after he had bought some the day before or being 'kidnapped' by the controlling, condescending man that was the British Government, John never lost his cool.

All men had their failings and John's seemed to be that when he went out to the pub in the hopes of 'pulling' a woman, it was hoping for no interruptions. This interruption had a name and that name was Sherlock Holmes. John was seriously becoming annoyed and his infamous patience was wearing thin with the Consulting Detective. He had already tried going to pubs as far away from 221B Baker Street as possible (without leaving London) but no matter how far away he was, Sherlock would turn up talking about something that most women found disturbing or disgusting or, worse yet, disturbing _and_ disgusting.

It was like the world was saying, "John Watson mustn't get laid."

John had a feeling that Sherlock's knowledge of where he was at all times was either due to The British Government sticking his nose in or some sort of GPS tracker hidden on his person and/or in his phone. Both explanations would explain how the Detective knew where he was. Sometimes, he would receive a text from Mycroft the next morning asking how his night had been.

Cheeky bastard. Just because he knew about John's service history while others could only guess.

So, here he was, on the complete opposite side of London from Baker Street, chatting to a very interesting woman who was completely into him- if he was reading the signs right. They had been alternating the paying of the drinks and John had had a couple of pints by this point. She- Louise was her name- had broken up a month earlier with her boyfriend because he had been cheating on her. When John first arrived, he had asked if she was alright or if she wanted some company.

They had been like this for the past three hours and it seemed to heading in the right direction- a direction that promised a second date.

Then, annoyingly, Sherlock showed up. His coat bellowing behind him, the collar turned up towards his cheekbones, giving him a mysterious air about him. John couldn't hold back the frustrated moan that followed the detective's sudden appearance.

Louise turned her head to look at him, a frown marring her forehead. "I'm taking that you know him."

John nodded," he's my flatmate." He stated, waiting for the in-evitable to happen.

"Ah, John, there you are," Sherlock said as he sat down next to them- completely uninvited by both occupants at the small pub table. Sherlock's icy eyes glanced over Louise and he opened his mouth to say something but John, knowing how cutting the next words out his flatmates mouth could potentially be, cut him off.

"What is it Sherlock?" John queried, his tone being harsher than he had initially intended but just showed the doctor how annoyed he really was.

Sherlock, of course, didn't even blink at John's obvious displeasure at the situation. "Well, I thought you might like to know that I've finally removed the head from the fridge," Louise's face became white as all the blood drained from it. "And the experiment with the eyeballs and the microwave was inconclusive."

Sherlock then went on to explain why he thought his experiment was incorrect and how he thought he could come to the right result. Although, the fact that they would need a new microwave after the eyes had consequently exploded should have been a pointer that the experiment had failed without all the other 'problems' Sherlock seemed to pull from nowhere. This made John groan into his hands in both annoyance and discontent.

He really didn't have the time for this right now.

"Sherlock, couldn't you have told me this later when, oh, _I don't know_, I'd arrived home?" John asked sarcastically, momentarily forgetting that Sherlock and sarcasm didn't compute.

"Oh, no, much too tedious," Sherlock flicked a gloved hand. "Plus, you would have been too concentrated on the mess of the place to listen to me."

John sent a quick look of concern to the woman opposite him, only to discover a mixed look of disgust, horror and anger staring right back at him. He wouldn't admit it later, being that he was a soldier and a doctor, but he knew better than to anger a woman- something he had learned from his sister and reading 'The Mourning Bride' by William Congreve… '_.Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd,' _was the last line, a line that everyone misquoted.

Right now, he could see what Congreve must have seen in his mind's eye when he had written the short poem. Louise looked close to killing him and the prat he had for a flatmate then committing suicide so the image of eyeballs in a microwave (of all things) wouldn't be in her head. If they were lucky, that was.

He felt sympathy rise in him for her, feeling sorry for her having to hear all this…John actually wasn't sure what to label 'this' as yet, but he felt for Louise and then, wishing that his flatmate wasn't quite so annoying, he started to pity himself too.

He could live with the violin playing at all times of the day, the hours of utter silence, the annoying texts that had the initials 'SH' at the end of them (like he didn't know who was texting him before he read the message) and the experiment's but the one thing he couldn't put up with was feeling like Sherlock hunted him down- deliberately- to tell him, and whoever was unfortunate enough to be with him at the time, all about his latest experiment in stomach tuning detail.

There was one time it wasn't too bad but that was because it was William 'Bill' Murray who was with him and Bill, used to gore from being on tour and reading his blog, had blinked and gave John a sympathetic look.

Coming back to the present, John buried his head in his hands, swiping them through his hair in annoyance. Sherlock was still rambling on about the eyeballs while Louise's face just became paler and paler the more words that came tumbling out of Sherlock's mouth.

Louise stood up," it was nice meeting you, John and I hope I never have the pleasure of meeting you two again," she was just about to leave the table before she turned. "No offence, by the way but," her eyes flicked over to the Consulting Detective.

John nodded in understanding. "I understand, I do share a flat with him after all."

Once Louise had left the pub completely, John glared at Sherlock- a look that was an uncommon expression on the ex-soldiers face, sometimes it felt like he didn't have any other facial expressions, when it came to Sherlock. The silence between them was awkward (at least for John it was). Sherlock, however, just ignored his flatmate, texting on his phone.

"Sherlock," John finally said after calming down a little bit. "Please tell me there was more to you being here other than to tell me about how we should buy a new microwave."

"Um… No, I also told you about my experiment with the eyeballs."

John wanted to kill him.

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A/N: Hello Sherlock community! I'M BAAAAAAACK! Anyway, I hope you guys liked it and if you want to see more of my one shot sherlock works, there is one posted called 'The Heroes Return."

See you guys later,

Roxanne


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